


given a chance, i'd do it again

by strong



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Minor Violence, Pining, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:43:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6558103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strong/pseuds/strong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn and louis fall apart and struggle to put themselves together again</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(set from march 2015 to february 2016, featuring flashbacks)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	given a chance, i'd do it again

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a way to soothe my mind about all the drama going down over the past few months. a lot of it was inspired by zayn's song titles before/after we heard the songs so.. try to find it's you, blue, lucozade, golden, and befour lowkey hidden in this.
> 
> overall it's canon but since i'm not them, i made some things up. obviously you'll know what's made up. the flashbacks are the same way. also niall isn't in this because niall wasn't even in the same hemisphere as the rest of the boys probably. sorry.
> 
> there's a scene of an act of violence, and there's implied/referenced cheating as the tags say, so if you're not comfortable with either of those i'd suggest skipping out on this or messaging me so i can remove those parts for you!

The thing about pain is that it doesn't come all at once. It slowly seeps into your veins, resides in your bones for days, months or years without you knowing. Sometimes it disguises itself as other emotions; anger, sadness, impatience, denial. But it's there nevertheless, and whether you like it or not, it will surface.

In this case, Louis hasn't felt any pain for a long while. He’s tried so valiantly to hide it and now so much has happened in such a short span of time that he figured he'd gone emotionally numb. But right now- at three in the morning- he’s sat outside, overlooking the glowing LA skyline with a cigarette burning in his hand and a chest too tight to take a drag.

He doesn't know what to do when it feels like you’re caving in on yourself and you're all alone to witness the crumble. He’s so far from home, from England, the place where he can slither into the countryside and pretend everything's okay. Here, he’s forced to face everything because it's all too new and confusing. There's no hiding from anything in this place, no flying back home when you've got a fucking _child_ asleep fifteen minutes away.

For a second, he considers screaming out, just yelling nonsense into the hills, praying that someone hears and comes to rescue him from this eternal stress. He has consideration for those sleeping, though, and quite frankly he’s afraid if he opens his mouth he’ll crack. Everything inside this ornate shell will spill in the form of tears and strangled roars.

Louis’ phone stays silent on his thigh. He’s texted Harry and Liam, asking both of them if they're awake and getting a reply from neither. Oli is snoring in one of the rooms inside the rented home behind him, not that he’d be much to confide in anyways. And his family is out of question, seeing as he’s led them to believe he’s buzzing about everything. So Louis is left with virtually no options as the feelings he’d kept locked away for so long begin to consume him.

There is _one_ last resort at the back of his mind, itching to materialize. He’s repeatedly pushed the idea away though, because it makes his heart sting more than it already is and his muscles tighten instinctually.

He drops what’s left of the cigarette in the glass ashtray and pulls his legs up onto the chair, flicking his phone on and doing nothing more than staring at the home screen. It takes about five minutes of this for him to push away his pride and build up the courage to do what he’s avoided for nearly a year now.

God, a whole year. He remembers when the gap never ran longer than a day.

_where are you_

As soon as he presses send, he sighs, rubbing his palm harshly into his forehead. This is a stupid idea. He’ll be fine. He can take some Benadryl and everything will be fine by daybreak.

**_who’s this?_ **

Louis laughs. Of course he’s awake. The nighttime insomnia they share has remained constant throughout the years. What turns the laugh bitter is the content of the message itself: ‘ _who is this’_. That's a question he never thought would come from this number, not even during a prank, because Louis is always too transparent to fool anyone.

_you know._

He sends that instead of his name then after a quick deliberation, he also sends:

_i need you_

 

_-_

 

 _“You can't leave me here alone!” He yells, teeth clenched as tight as his fists, and tears welling up in his eyes. “We were in this_ together _, you can't just drop it and all of us. You_ know _-.”_

 _“No I don't!” Zayn snaps. He throws his arms out exasperatedly. “I don't know anything and that's_ why _I’m fucking leaving. I don't know how I’ve got here, what any of this is, or who I even am anymore because I’ve gotten so lost over the past few years. I’m doing this so I_ will _know things rather than being stuck in an endless mystery with weights chained to my feet!”_

 _Louis, being irrational as he is, takes this personally. “You know me though! I’ve always been here for you. We’ve always gotten through this shit together, because we’re in the same shitty situation, and I don't know how I’m supposed to just.. just_ move on _from that!”_

_“Well some things aren't about you, Louis.”_

_The air is tense. Louis is pressed against the hotel bed, the backs of his knees threatening to give out where they’re sinking into the soft mattress. Zayn is a few feet away with a firm stance in the middle of the room. His eyes are locked dead on Louis’ and it takes more strength than Louis thought he had to meet those dark eyes that are filled with venom rather than the fondness that usually resides in them._

_“Fuck you,” Louis whispers. He hasn't got anything else to say– doesn't know what he can say, really. There's a breakdown being held back by his dull fingernails digging into his palm._

_Zayn clenches his jaw then bitterly laughs. His eyes roll away as his hand moves to scratch at his stubble. Louis’ eyes follow the_ BUS 1 _tattoo._

_“You know, of all people, I thought you’d be the one to understand. You're too caught up in yourself to care, though. I see that now.” Zayn's voice has dropped to no more than a whisper, a ghost of their previous screams. It stings Louis just as much, if not more._

_“I’m caught up in myself? Says the one who’s fucking off without thinking of what it'll affect.”_ Without thinking of who it’ll hurt.

_Zayn says nothing. He clenches his jaw and stares at the wall behind Louis, studying the painting hanging there. Then he lets out a breath and shrugs, shoving his hand in his jacket pocket._

_“Well, I guess this is it then,” he hums with a smile so sweet it’s terrifying. He refuses to meet Louis’ gaze anymore. “I’m leaving and no one seems to care apart from the businessmen who’ll get a huge check from me and the press who’ll have a lovely time selling stories about it. I had a good time, Lou, truly, the best fucking time, but I’ll see myself out now.”_

_Louis processes his words and scrambles to stop him. Suddenly the reality of the situation dawns on him. He can't just_ leave _like this, he can't, he couldn't. “Z, I-”_

_“Save it,” Zayn bites with bitterness in his irises, pupils boring into Louis’. Louis wants to shrivel under his gaze. “I don't have time to listen to someone who isn't listening to me and apparently never was.”_

_Before Louis can get another word in, whether an apology or another bitter remark, Zayn storms out of the room, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him. His absence leaves the room’s atmosphere unsettled. It feels like the walls are getting closer, trying to suffocate Louis in the ruins of that conversation— quite possibly the ruins of_ them _._

_For the first time in his life, lying down on the queen sized bed with a feather pillow shoved into his face, Louis screams and prays he can't be heard._

 

_-_

 

Having to use a security code to enter through a front gate brings back distant images of his home in London. The only difference is that his gate is regal wood with a keypad that has his fingertips worn into each number and this one is polished iron with a screen that's barely been used.

He pulls the car around the looped driveway, scanning the house that appears in front of him. It’s a classic LA mansion, all modern architecture with sharp angles and shapes everywhere. There's a stone staircase off to the side, lit by a series of lamps. There’s spray paint all across it, and Louis can instantly smell the paint fumes as if he's standing in that old room in London with pictures of superheroes and aliens all around him. It's a place he hasn't been brought back to in a while.

He shuts the engine off and sits in silence for a solid minute or two before stepping out and up to the intimidating front door. His knuckles rap quietly with all the strength he can muster. Having to knock in general is odd considering he used to let himself in with a spare key and a bottle of whiskey as per request. His gentle knock either proves to be enough or his arrival was awaited, because no more than five seconds later the door is swinging open to reveal a face Louis has only seen online and in his dreams since last March.

“Lou.”

Zayn looks soft with his unstyled blonde hair and loose joggers and he whispers the word so quietly that Louis almost forgets it’s the first one uttered in person since he said goodbye. Louis is frozen in place, staring at this figure who once used to be his refuge but is now a stranger. Suffice to say, he doesn't make it into the threshold before the first tear falls.

Zayn curses under his breath and reaches out for Louis, careful to grab his bicep as Louis’ hands fly to cover his face in embarrassment. They never cry. They’re tough northern boys who could rant for hours and moan pitifully about every stressful thing in their hectic lives, but a tear would never be shed unless the other person agreed to turn a blind eye. Louis allows himself to be led inside and then held tightly nevertheless, all former rules thrown out the window. Two thin arms wrap around him as he releases more tears between shaky breaths. It feels like coming home after a holiday that lasted far too long, but every room has changed and Louis is lost in a maze of familiar yet empty halls.

“You good, yeah?” Zayn soothes as if nothing has changed. “It's alright. Let it out, it's no good keeping it in.”

“I still hate you,” Louis mutters as his tears begin to subside, bringing his arms down to wrap around Zayn’s waist. He burrows his face in his cotton shirt and holds onto the bones and bumps of his back. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“I know,” Zayn says. “I’ve hated you for a while too.”

“I’ve needed you through all of this.”

Zayn tenses, like he has his own piece of mind to share but doesn't want to say it. “You’ve had the other lads.. Liam told me he’s tried to be there for you. I’m sure Harry and Niall would’ve listened too,” he adds, obviously less sure because Liam is the only one who’s kept in touch on solid terms.

“Not really,” Louis mumbles. “They've got their own lives going with no stress and I could never just weigh them down with all of my shit. Liam’s fine for a smoke and a pep talk, Harry’s good for lounging around and watching the sunset, Niall’s good for mind-numbing drinking, but no heart-to-hearts there.”

They fall quiet, tangled in each other. They’re both avoiding bringing up the elephant in the room– the way they tore themselves apart last year and are temporarily patching themselves up with Scotch tape and glue sticks.

“Would you mind if we pretend that we didn't hurt each other, just for tonight? I really need some peace, and I’m tired enough to fool myself into not wanting to punch you,” Louis says quietly.

“Well that's a pretty drastic desire anyways.”

So much for peace.

“What?” Louis scoffs, yanking himself away. He takes on a defensive stance though his eyes are still puffy and cheeks are red. “Wanting to pretend we’re friends for a few hours like we were for five fucking years is an unfathomable desire?”

Zayn sighs, rubbing his face. The tattoo on the side of his hand is darker than it was last March. “I meant you wanting to punch me. _That's_ drastic.”

“Oh. Not really,” he mumbles.

Then the flames begin again. Their orbits intersect, the unavoidable collision of two bright entities.

“Do it then,” Zayn suddenly taunts. It’s flippant and easy, like asking someone to pass the salt.

Louis stares at him hard, waiting for something else. When Zayn pops a brow, Louis fidgets. “No,” he grimaces, crossing his arms and shifting his weight. “No. I’m not _punching you._ ”

Without thought, he slides past Zayn and down the foyer until he reaches the living room. There are leather couches covered with fur blankets, a record player with a champagne glass resting on top of it, and a large hound asleep on a beanbag chair in the corner. The TV is paused on a scene from the Avengers and Louis feels lost on the hardwood.

He hears Zayn following him with his loud breathing and heavy step that they all used to mock when he slunk around tour busses and hotel rooms at night. Louis doesn’t know what he’s thinking trying to run from Zayn in his own home when he’s the one who reached out and drove over here in the first place.

“I’m serious. If you want to punch me, do it,” Zayn insists, spinning Louis around softly then instantly dropping his hand again.

“Me hitting you won’t change anything,” Louis argues. “You’ll still have left, I’ll still have been an asshole about it, you still would have chosen someone else over me. All I want is to not think about all of that right now.”

“Fine. If you don’t hit me, I’ll hit you first.”

Louis balks at this. “Why the fuck would you hit me? What have I done?”

“Made bitchy comments about me when I left, tried to guilt trip me when I first said I was leaving, changed your number and never tried to reach out over the course of a year,” Zayn presses.

The words dig into Louis’ skin, scraping his pride and igniting his defensive side. “You _know_ I wasn’t coming for you when I sent those tweets, and my iMessage got leaked which is why I changed my fucking number to begin with. Not everything is about you, _Zayn_.”

He’s proud of the bitter reference to what Zayn said to him last year. He feels like he’s got the upperhand on the argument now, as much as he wishes Zayn had let it be put off til the morning. Really, what more can happen to make Louis’ life more miserable though? Why not just tackle everything at once?

“Actually, it is about me, isn’t it? Everything’s about me right now,” Zayn smirks, though his eyes are too tired to be menacing. “Every question you’ve been asked over the past year has been about me, every article you’ve read online has probably had my name at the top, even a magazine you were on the cover of had _my_ name printed right over your chest.”

Louis doesn’t blink before clenching his fist and hooking it into Zayn’s left eye.

Zayn stumbles back, cursing and hissing, both hands pressed over the spot of impact. Louis himself is biting down a yell at how badly it hurt. He used his left hand for the sake of sparing Zayn his full strength, but the weak bones whine and flush bright red, burning at the pain of hurting someone they once promised to protect.

“Do you feel better now?” Zayn asks between gritted teeth, voice tight and eyes glimmering. He’s lost the cocky grin as his voice has lost its edge.

Louis stares at the tear stains on Zayn’s shirt. He’s so lost, always so lost in Zayn and the never ending mystery of his entire being. Then, after a moment of deliberation, the fog begins to clear. “You said all that on purpose to rile me up, didn’t you?”

Zayn drops his hand to reveal the bruising skin on his face. His eye is swelling and there’s reds and pinks centered around the corner, purple veins beginning to bloom at his brow bone. “Yeah, and it worked.”

“Why?” Louis croaks, wanting to go to sleep and wake up in ten years when he’s hopefully residing in a ritzy beach house on a secluded island, far from all the problems of real life.

“We haven't talked in awhile, but I still know when you're at your breaking point..” Zayn pauses, licking his lips. “This seemed like a good way to ease the impact of that explosion.”

Louis’ hand is numb and so is his heart. “You made me hurt you so my own self destruction is less painful.” Something celestial is going on. Louis doesn't deserve things like this, especially from Zayn after all that they've been through. He laughs. “What the fuck, Zayn.”

“There are some things that are beyond the point of being resolved with blissful ignorance and spliffs,” Zayn breathes. For someone who’s got a poisonous sunset around his eye, he’s speaking ever so eloquently.

Louis has nothing else to say. The tears have officially hidden in fear of this situation and his anger is centered around the throbbing in his knuckles rather than raging in his chest. He says nothing as Zayn leads him up a flight of stairs to a grand bedroom and a grander bathroom. Nothing comes out when Zayn digs around for a roll of gauze and gestures for Louis to sit on the counter so he can methodically wrap his hand tightly in the fabric, ignoring his own injury for the time being.

What he wants to ask is how Zayn knows how to do this unless it's happened to him previously. The questions of when and why and how are all swirling in a tempting brew that Louis refuses to indulge in.

“I like the tatt,” Zayn compliments, rubbing his thumb across the numbers staining Louis’ hot skin.

“Thanks.”

There was a time when they knew one another's skin better than their own. Nothing new was a surprise. Louis spent centuries tracing patterns on Zayn’s permanent doodles, even longer discussing what their next art pieces would be.

Louis watches Zayn press the end of the tape in place and recoils his hand as soon as he’s sure Zayn’s done. The distance between them is smaller than ever, yet Louis feels the need to maintain it, maybe even stretch it. Neither of them ever had the last word and he doesn't want this to be it. The regret is already building and there's no way he can accept that a fist to the face is the way their tragic tale ends before the epilogue begins.

“I really didn't want to hit you. I never would’ve if you hadn't have said that shit,” Louis explains.

Zayn shakes his head, grimacing then holding his temple with his fingertips. “I’m glad you did. It sort of made the past year seem real.”

“It makes it feel more like a dream. You don't hurt someone you– you don’t physically hurt people you care about in real life,” Louis catches before he goes into something worthy of a full bottle of wine and a bath of solemn tears.

“Love hurts,” Zayn whispers, fingertips gently pressing on his eye.

Louis pretends not to hear or see it.

He soon asks where the guest bedroom is and hides away there for the rest of the night (or what could be considered dawn at this point). There’s no strength or motivation left in him to try to soothe what he’s been feeling. Talking would just muddle his mind even more.

Zayn whispers goodnight through the door once Louis is already curled under two thick blankets with his eyes set on the dark, unfamiliar ceiling above. The more he thinks about it, ‘good night’ seems like an oxymoron.

 

-

 

_It’s two in the morning and everyone on the island is asleep except for Louis, Zayn, and the dark waves that refuse to cease. The sea breeze coats their skin with a salty film and fogs their bottles of sweet beer. A joint is passed between them and everything is easy– soft and delicate as it should always be but so rarely is._

_“Isn't it weird that we’ve seen the world, but never experienced most of it?” Zayn asks, white smoke trailing out of his mouth like silk. His tattoos are just dark blots in the night, but his eyes still catch the light of the stars._

_“Yeah. It’s pretty fucked up, innit?” Louis agrees with a slow nod._

_Zayn nods, passing the joint over, “It is.” Louis gives him time to think because he knows to let the thoughts build rather than talk over them. “Do you ever wish it wasn't like this?”_

_“I guess. It’d be nice to get out more when we’re in each city.. a less hectic schedule maybe,” Louis responds._

_“No, I mean-” Zayn trails off. Louis looks over in concern to find him gazing out over the blackened sea. It looks like the edge of the word is one hundred meters in front of them._

_“What?”_

_Zayn sighs. “Do you ever think about what it’d be like to_ not _be Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson of trademark One Direction? Ever wonder how it could be to just be Zayn or Louis?”_

_Louis shrugs and sinks further in the metal chair. “I’ve always been Louis Tomlinson. Even in school I was never just Louis, so I guess it wouldn't be that big of a deal for me. I’ve accepted that it's part of my overall being.”_

_“You do have a reigning personality,” Zayn notes, but something's missing now. Louis is too far gone to press the tiny issue._

_“I know,” Louis grins, smoke pouring out from his grin. “So how about you? I’m guessing you're getting tired of the title?”_

_It's not monumental in the moment. When Zayn twists his rings and chews on his lip, it's all unnoticeable. It's like watching a movie the first time around, not knowing what the ending is or what to look for yet. You miss every clue dropped and don't pay close enough attention, as much as you’d like to believe you did when you reflect on it later._

_“It feels less like me with every passing day.”_

_“Fair enough.” Louis hands back over the drug and when he takes a swig of beer, he doesn't realize the stars are falling out of alignment._

 

_-_

 

When he wakes, it’s to cold sweats and a racing heart. He wasn’t having a nightmare, but was instead dreaming of the lost times of years past where things were better and he was happier. Of course, he’s happy now to a relative extent, but thinking of a time when he could unabashedly be himself and be proud of everything he was gives him a nauseating sense of nostalgia. So much has changed, and it's terrifying to think of how it happened right under his nose without him noticing and how it could do the exact same by next year.

His eyes blink open but aren’t blinded by the light he expects to flood through the sliding glass doors of his rental home. It takes a moment for him to realize where he is, and when it settles in, his nerves spike back up. He raises his hand and smooths the pad of his thumb over the tape that's covering his bruised knuckles to prove he’s not still in a dream.

His veins feel heavy with lead when he sits up. There’s a full-length mirror sitting across from the bed and he doesn’t recognize himself in the reflection. He drags a hand through his hair and notes his drooping figure, his overgrown scruff, the cotton shirt that’s practically choking him.

He checks his phone and sighs at the number of texts from Liam and Harry, worryingly questioning what he needed and if he’s alright. Even Oli has sent him a message wondering where he’s gone off to, but he doesn't feel the need to reply to any of them just yet.

The floor creaks when he stands and so do his limbs. They all pop and loosen when he bends to swipe his sneakers and continue as he makes his way down the hall towards the staircase he only vaguely remembers from last night. Eight hours seems like a century away already.

It's a rainy day in Southern California. There’s a soft drizzle falling over the vast expanse of Zayn’s back garden, all the way over the skyscrapers that are visible in the distance. Zayn doesn't seem to be awake yet, so Louis takes this opportunity to grab a bottled water from the stainless steel fridge and slump over the kitchen counter, resting atop a barstool.

For a few minutes he holds his head in his functioning hand, debating whether to stay and face the man that haunts his dreams or flee the scene with a skid mark on the slick concrete outside. There are rarely moments where Louis genuinely has no idea what to do, but this is one of them. The world is proving to be too big for the boyking that once conquered it with four reigning princes closely held at his side.

He needs to escape, he thinks. It may be frowned upon to do so, but for the sake of his sanity, he figures it wouldn't be too much of a problem. Maybe he can hike in the hills or venture out to seaside treasures like caves and cliffs where no one could find him. Clean air in and out of his lungs, washing out the poison and pain residing in them currently.

“You're still here?”

Louis doesn't lift his head at the surprised voice. There's no hiding now.

“You see me, don't you,” he replies, a low growl with no real bite.

“I guess so,” Zayn says groggily. His throat's still rough from sleep and it brings back memories of mornings waking up on the floor of a tour bus or a fancy bed on Hamilton Island, their bodies intertwined and reeking of smoke. Louis never could remember when they fell asleep or how they ended up together, always, but he never fought the warm embrace when the sun rose.

Zayn silently slides the back door open and his dog flies out, galloping happily through the wetness. What Louis focuses on isn't what he _wants_ to focus on. The animal slipping along the wet grass is one thing, but Zayn’s bare back in the dim daylight is another. His fingers itch to reach out and reclaim their territory: the vast, smooth expanse of Zayn’s skin and the tattoos permanently etched into it.

Then, Zayn turns.

Louis is met with a dark sea of purple and blue surrounding cold Amber. His gut twists painfully at the proof of the pain he inflicted. Zayn blinks and diverts his gaze somewhere off to the other side of the room, but Louis is hooked on the bruise, enchanted by its irresistible lure.

“We were destined to fall apart.”

“Sorry?” Louis squeaks, the statement randomly cutting into the tension filling the air.

“You, me,” Zayn drawls, “We were always going to explode. It was too perfect. Perfection doesn't exist in this world.”

“You make it sound like we were a starlet couple that eloped at twenty then filed for divorce. It’s not that serious,” Louis mumbles bitterly, willing himself to believe that too.

“But isn't it?” Zayn asks, meeting Louis’ eyes. “We had a lifetime of friendship in four years. What some people can't manage during their entire existence, we did in an amount of time you can count on one hand.”

“Alright, it was serious then, but why the fuck are you bringing it up now?” Louis relents.

“I wasn't finished. I wanted to say that we were something perfect in a universe that doesn't allow that, but I want to fight it.” Zayn crosses his arms like he doesn't know what else to do with them and his gaze remains matched with Louis’, though it's difficult to maintain the hold. “I used to have nightmares about losing you, Louis. I’d wake up with you held so tightly in my arms that it scared me how scared I was of having you taken from me. Then you were gone.”

Louis purses his lips at Zayn’s philosophical outburst. This is everything he’s never wanted happening, and it's slightly overwhelming. He's not used to someone fighting for him. It doesn't feel right when he still holds most of the blame on himself for their falling out.

Zayn looks smaller than his words, all curled in on himself and literally beaten and bruised. “The fact that you're still here this morning makes me realize how important it is to not lose you again.”

“You're the one that left, Zayn. You're the one who chose some prick over me and didn't say _shit_ when he came at me, didn't do _shit_ when I left you God knows how many pitiful voicemails after half of my club crawls,” Louis rants, willing to set Zayn in his place before this gets close enough for comfort.

“And I’m _sorry_ ,” Zayn growls, his natural passion rising to the surface. “I’m sorry for all the dumb shit I did and want to start over. That is, if you're sorry too, otherwise I’m not going to drag this out any longer and we can just fade to nothing again by tomorrow.”

It’s sad that Louis even has to think about the proposition. He’s naturally stubborn, is the thing. He doesn't want to relent and openly admit that he was in the wrong and that he would scour the world for ways to make up for all that happened. Those thoughts exist happily in his head, but letting them out into the open is another story. Zayn is the same way though, and Louis knows it– they’re both impossibly stubborn boys perpetually caught up in their own pride, and if Zayn can overcome it then surely Louis can too.

“Being friends again sounds impossible, honestly. We can't even go five minutes without fighting.” Louis gulps as he stares down at his hands, scrapes his full nails across the white tape. His knuckles itch under it. “But anything is better than silence, so.. yeah, I’m sorry. I was a twat. I know I– I should've been more supportive and less defensive, but it happens naturally. I’ve got a lot of pride.”

“It's your- _our_ fatal flaw. Our hamartia.”

Louis’ lips pinch into a tiny smile, tight-lipped and private. “I guess it is.”

Later on, somewhere between smoking a bit of Zayn’s stash and cuddling with a damp dog on the couch while watching the top music videos of 2011, Louis finds himself forgetting why he was driven to this home in the first place. Everything feels calm and he refuses to believe that he's currently in the eye of the storm, but it's probably the truth. Every time he begins to worry about all of the stressful things in his life, Zayn starts humming to the tune of whatever is on TV and effectively gets Louis to join in, trying to push all of the troublesome thoughts away.

There's still a million things swirling around in his head even as Lady Gaga lyrics spill out of his mouth though. He’s in the clouds with a man who smells like the icy hot around his eye and a dash of cinnamon cologne, but each time Louis tries to go higher, his subconscious reminds him to come back down.

“Z, I just want you to know that it took a lot of love to hate you like I did,” Louis says during a commercial break.

“I know. It took the same amount for me to hate you back,” Zayn agrees, sliding further down the cushions. They shuffle until their heads meet at the middle and their bodies lie in two different directions. “What’re you thinking about?”

Louis offers a noncommittal hum. “Nothing and everything, honestly. You. Life.”

“Your life’s a bit hectic now, innit?” Zayn asks softly.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, chest hollowing.

Zayn lets the word linger for a moment. Then, he pipes back up. “Are you busy this week?”

Louis shrugs lazily in his horizontal form. “Pretty much. Kid, grocery shopping, media events, studio work, girlfriend flying in at some point.”

“Girlfriend?”

Louis hums.

“Are you sure that's..” Zayn starts, obviously struggling to find a way to say what he needs to. Louis doesn't need him to.

“I’m just bad at being lonely,” he admits with a self-deprecating grin.

“That’s understandable.”

“I’m not a bad person for that, am I? Using people’s company just to make myself feel better?”

“I think you should do whatever it takes to make yourself happy. Everything else is secondary,” Zayn supplies insightfully. “It sounds dickish, but it works.”

Louis ponders the idea for a moment. He lowers a hand to pet Rhino’s head, having learned the dog’s name earlier when Zayn called him over. “Is that the philosophy you followed when you left?”

“Yes,” Zayn says slowly, clearly cautious about what he says about that event in front of Louis, unsure whether he should confirm it or not.

“Well then I agree; it is dickish,” Louis starts, almost ready to start another fight. It’s instinctual at this point. Their relationship has brought him to an animalistic state of mind.

But rather than doing that, Louis focuses on what’s around him. Zayn has been hiding away for a year, only showing his face when it’s under his terms. He’s got himself a solo career set up with people who genuinely care about what he has to say and how he wants to say it. He’s got a big LA mansion with a dog that he treats like a son and a cabinet of hard liquor and afternoon drinks and from what Louis has seen, his life’s going better than ever.

“But if it works then I guess it’s alright.”

 

-

 

_When alcohol makes its way to your bloodstream, you begin to lose your sense of judgement and, in effect, do things that would seem completely irrational to your sober self. Sometimes it's dangerous stunts, sometimes heartfelt confessions, but worst of all is when those two combine to create the mother of all regrets._

_Louis is lost. He’s stumbling around aimlessly, hiccuping as he searches for a place he only knows from vague memory. He isn't alone, though. Zayn is right behind him taking every step more elegantly and stable than Louis could ever manage in his state._

_“It's here somewhere, I know it,” he whispers with confidence. The wind blows his hair into his face and he shoves it back with a grunt of annoyance. “If this were 2012 and a mob of fans was chasing me, where would I run..”_

_“What?”_

_“Nothing!”_

_It takes a few more minutes, but Louis eventually finds the building. It’s much shorter than he remembers. When they were sprinting for their lives, it seemed like a tower five hundred feet above the rest of the world. In reality, it’s a simple row of garages outside of a business that appears to be closed down now._

_He finds the ladder on the side wall and doesn’t check its sturdiness before latching on and hopping the few feet up to where it floats above the ground. “Come on, Z, hurry up. They’ve got trackers in us. They’ll find us before we even get up here.”_

_“This isn't the Hunger Games,” Zayn retorts. Louis hears the latter creak as he joins the journey upward._

_“And you're no fucking fun,” Louis bites._

_“I’m climbing a building with you, what more do you want?”_

_“I want-” He suddenly slips on a rung, his shoes losing traction on the worn metal and falling down to the bar below. Louis screams and clings tighter to the ladder, fearful of falling to the ground and especially dragging Zayn down with him. “Fuck!”_

_“Shit, Lou, you good?” Zayn asks worriedly. He wraps a hand around Louis’ exposed ankle and holds him in place for a moment._

_“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Louis laughs. “You can release the death grip.”_

_He looks down with a devilish grin to find Zayn glaring at him. The amount of protection Zayn has over him and all of the boys is humorous yet endearing and Louis can't help but tease him for it._

_“You've got decent coordination for someone who’s downed a pint of vodka tonight,” Zayn mutters as they climb onto the roof._

_“I’m incredible, aren't I?” Louis slurs happily, spreading his arms to catch the sweet Australian wind._

_When there's no response for too many seconds, he chances a look at Zayn and catches him staring. There’s an expression on his face so rarely displayed that Louis isn’t sure exactly what it is. Fondness possibly, but that seems unreasonable. Surely it’s his brain twisting reality._

_“That you are,” Zayn supplies, which doesn't help that theory that Louis is trying to convince himself is true._

_Louis scans the area. There are random leaves and twigs lying around the ground, black tar holding them in place. He nears the edge where he remembers sitting and teasing the fans below them years ago, and there’s a bottle resting there, rolling back and forth. He reaches for it and flips it around until he can read the label._ Lucozade.

_An idea begins forming. It’s a stupid one, obviously, because that's all they ever are when they're a construct of Louis’ mind. But.._

_No. He narrows his eyes at the pink bottle and turns it in his palm, contemplating. Yes. No? Maybe he should just-_

_“Perfect night for a game of spin the bottle, huh?” Zayn asks and Louis physically jumps because he’s absolutely positive Zayn’s just exposed his mind reading skills._

_“What?” Louis asks, eyebrows rocketing to hide beneath his fringe._

_“I just- the bottle made me think of..” Zayn begins to explain, voice low and languid. He’s making hand gestures that slow down as his brain stops. “Never mind,” he backtracks, shaking his head and walking over to Louis with his gaze set on the buildings ahead._

_Louis is still frozen. His body slowly turns around so they're both looking at the same fixture. There’s a wall with a mural painted across it, abstract art dripping every color on the wheel over the rough bricks. It’s interesting to the average eye and entrancing to someone who’s looking at the world through a distorted lens._

_“Did you want to play?” Louis throws out with a burst of confidence, courtesy of the alcohol in him._

_Zayn cracks his knuckles. “Don't you need more people?”_

_“Not necessarily.”_

_There’s something between them and it's more than tension, greater and more confusing and buzzing like electricity. It only intensifies when Zayn says, “Let’s do it then.”_

_Louis gives him a wary grin and drops to the floor, crossing his legs like a child. Zayn scrunches his legs in front of him so his knees pop out of the holes in his jeans. It’s a bit unnecessary to have this whole setup when the ending is inevitable, but it makes it all more natural in a way. Two best friends sitting on a rooftop in Australia at near two in the morning, an empty bottle between them and wind pouring through the rips in their clothes._

_“I’ll spin I guess,” Louis laughs._

_He sets the bottle down and flicks it hard. Louis’ eyes follow it as it spins with the likeness of a carousel, slow and entrancing. Amusingly enough, the cap slows to a stop in front of Zayn. Of every empty place if could have landed, of course it falls on the one and only option he has tonight._

_“It looks like you're the winner, Z,” Louis boasts. He rubs his knees with sweating palms._

_“We both knew it’d be me,” Zayn says quietly. His dark eyes grab Louis’ blues and he blinks slow as if he’s in a teen romance film._

_“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m so drunk.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I’ll probably regret this.”_

_“I know.”_

_Then Louis is surging forward over the bottle, closing the heated gap between them. He’s on his knees between Zayn’s legs so he can feel the rough roof beneath them and he grips Zayn’s shoulders tightly, holding onto the round bones there. He doesn't waste time before connecting their lips, letting the confidence inside him overpower the worry. There’s an immediate reaction. Zayn hums and presses forward into the kiss and there's something set ablaze in Louis’ chest, more powerful than a hurricane and weightless like the bubbles in champagne._

_“Fuck,” he groans into fuller, rougher lips. It’s an odd feeling— he’s not used to his stubble catching on someone else's and he's not familiar with smelling cologne when he's got his lips attached to someone else’s. Simply put, he's never properly kissed a man before and it's terrifyingly wonderful._

_They move together on the rooftop with sparks flying from where they're connected. They're now touching in new places, with Louis’ hands on Zayn’s jaw, Zayn’s fingers wound tightly in Louis’ long hair and lightly tracing his sharp cheekbones. Louis doesn’t dare try to use his tongue. Opened mouths and hot breaths are enough to satisfy this sudden animalistic craze._

_When they finally separate, Louis keeps his eyes closed as to not break this spell. He still feels lightheaded from the bottles he downed in the hotel room earlier, but now it’s intensified by.._ this. _Kissing his best friend, not by bet, not by dare, not even by accident, but by pure, selfish choice._

_They haven't pulled apart more than a few inches, so Zayn’s fingers still rest on his face while Louis lets his slide back down to his lap._

_“Why did we do that?” he asks._

_Zayn smirks, “Because we’re idiots.”_

_Louis falls backwards so the close proximity doesn't tempt him to do something idiotic again. He laughs, though he doesn't know why. “It wasn't bad. Is it bad that it wasn't bad?”_

_“I don't know,” Zayn answers._

_“I don’t either,” Louis agrees, raising his hand to his mouth to nervously bite at his nails. When he brushes his bottom lip, it tingles and his hand darts away. “I think I’m ready to go home now. The drinks are starting to catch up and I don't want to make you have to carry me back to the hotel.”_

_“Let's go then,” Zayn nods before standing up._

_Before the kiss, he didn't look anything special, but now that Louis takes a moment to eye him down, there’s something intriguing. The way his skin glows under the moonlight, how pieces of his hair fly astray and his tattoos bleed through his thin top. Louis wills the thoughts to go away as he follows Zayn back down the ladder. His brain keeps pushing forward the bright orange sticky notes that yell at him about the girlfriends they both have a few thousand miles away. This internal tug of war follows him through the streets below. Dragging his feet and clinging to his friend, he wishes he could just fall asleep already._

 

_-_

 

Once again, something changed that night. The Earth tilted further on its axis, the storm on Jupiter stopped raging for a second and then some. But as for the two of them, their relationship stayed the same. It was an unspoken one-time-only deal that neither of them brought up to each other or to anyone else, though whenever they met eyes for months afterwards, Louis is sure that's what they were both thinking about.

Now they're here somehow. They were on the border of what could’ve been disastrous and then took a nosedive into a disaster of a greater degree. It’s been a few days since they last saw each other and the times that they’ve tried to text, neither of them have known what to say. They’re both too cautious and clueless to hold out a conversation because this is how strangers talk to one another. He’s not going to sugarcoat the obvious.

The sun is beating down hard today. The hills are ablaze and Louis is taking full advantage of the beautiful weather, laying at the edge of his pool and moving one foot in a circular motion in the water beside him. It’s still too cold to jump in and enjoy swimming around, but this is good enough in the meantime. The sun’s rays soak through his cotton scoopneck and wrap around his exposed legs, engulfing him in a special sort of Californian warmth that’s impossible to find anywhere else.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he whips it out already knowing who’s on the other end of the line. It’s Harry, and he announces that he's here but he's forgotten the code to get in which Louis scoffs at him for.

“You’re a blooming idiot,” Louis sighs conversationally into the speaker after rattling off the digits.

“Says the one dangling in the pool rather than just getting in,” Harry says, much crisper and closer.

Louis squints and peers over to the wall of glass doors where Harry stands lean and naturally glowing at the border of sunlight. He pockets his phone at the same time Louis lowers his. “Feel it for yourself, Styles. I’m not an idiot for not wanting to freeze.”

Harry hums and strolls over in his Nike jogging shorts and a faded grey _Los Angeles_ shirt that Louis is certain was his at one point. He kicks his socks and trainers off and lowers himself to the ground in front of Louis with a quiet groan that comes with his post-run exhaustion. He twirls his legs in the water, bumping their feet together and he shrugs.

“This feels wonderful to me,” he states happily. He smiles at Louis, lopsided and scrunch-eyed. “You just have no cold tolerance. Your tiny limbs can’t handle it.”

“Oh fuck off,” Louis groans, sitting up to swat at Harry’s arm. In doing this, his newly exposed knuckles accidentally collide with a bone in Harry’s shoulder and he winces, letting out a minuscule noise as the pain pinches at the fingers that are still too sensitive from the collision with Zayn’s face.

Harry wastes no time in flicking his eyes down to Louis’ hand and taking it lightly in his own. He says nothing and neither does Louis. Harry holds his hand delicately and Louis stares across the yard to the beautiful homes around them, diverting his attention. When Harry curiously bends Louis’ ring finger back, Louis swipes his hand away and casts a cold glare at the boy.

“What did you do to yourself now?” Harry asks carefully. It sounds like he’s torn between scolding Louis and coddling him, but Louis would prefer if he did neither of those, thank you.

“That’s none of your business, isn’t it?” Louis bites.

“As someone who cares about you and your wellbeing, yeah, it is actually,” Harry responds calmly. He’s used to dealing with Louis’ temper and pressing him just enough to get out what he wants to know.

Louis sighs heavily. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry shrugs. “You’re going to have to explain sooner or later. May as well do it now while the water’s warm.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the mocking tone adopted at the end of the sentence, but gives in to spare the fight. He shuffles over then slides both of his calves into the pool beside Harry’s. “I visited Zayn.”

Harry’s eyes widen predictably. “When?”

“The other night at like.. four in the morning,” he chuckles awkwardly, knowing _that’s_ going to bring up even _more_ questions.

Harry’s face wrinkles in thought.  “Have you guys spoken at all since last March?”

“No, not unless you count petty arguments via Twitter,” Louis confirms.

“So why did you go see him?” Harry’s getting protective now. It’s clear in his tone and the way his body language is stiff and demanding rather than soft and pliant.

“I was having more or less of an existential crisis and couldn't sleep. No one was awake and it felt natural to go back to him because it’s what I’d always done before,” Louis shrugs as if to ask what else he was supposed to do.

“It's not good to rely on old routines.”

“And it's not good to criticize other people when they're obviously in the midst of some sort of bigger crisis, but you've got no problem doing that, do you?” Louis lashes out defensively.

“Alright, sorry, I’ll hold the life lessons,” Harry backtracks, palms raised as white flags. “Can you tell me how you got the bruises then at least? Then maybe we can talk more?”

“Well first of all, no offense, but I _don't_ want to talk more about my problems right now,” Louis clarifies, “and I got the bruises because I, uh..”

“Hmm?”

Louis nervously scratches his forearm. “I punched him in the face. Zayn. Punched Zayn in the face.”

“Oh fucking hell, Lou. Where’s the other bruises?”

“What other bruises?”

Harry blinks at him. Clearly he’s confused as to what Louis is vaguely trying to tell him. “Did he not hit you too?”

“No,” Louis snorts. “I was the only prick. My knuckles are the ones that almost got broken and his right eye got stuck with a nice new color.”

“Surely he provoked it though. I mean, you’ve never hit anyone before. Even the people I’ve seen you smiling at while clenching your fists.”

“Technically, yes, he said some things that made me more inclined to want to bash his pretty face in, but it was for my own good,” Louis answers, passionately defending Zayn like second nature. Harry seems skeptical. “It was.”

“You two are something else,” Harry sighs, shaking his head unbelievingly. He’s holding Louis’ hand again and Louis lets him because the touch is familiar and warm.

“We always have been.”

They sit in silence. Waves swirl around their soaking limbs and the sun continues to glare at them off the surface of the water.

“Where’s your phone?” Harry suddenly asks, causing Louis to side eye him.

“Beside me. Why?” He asks, carefully leaning away from the younger man who’s got a growing facade of innocence painted on his face.

“Hold your breath,” Harry smiles without giving Louis a chance to process what he’s said before tugging him down into the chilly water.

As soon as he’s submerged, Louis feels the stress of the past months wash away. His muscles release their tension at once and his lungs blow out a final breath of toxic air. It’s quiet underwater and time moves slowly. Then Harry has an arm wrapped around Louis’ waist and soon enough Louis is being dragged to the surface where the world resumes its high-speed pace with a cough and a cackle.

“Fuck you!” Louis chokes out through his gasps for air.

Harry’s cheeks are dotted with dimples and his hair is a dripping mop around his face. Just looking at him sends joy to Louis’ heart and he finds himself returning a smile soon enough, devoid of all the insincerity that usually lies in his grins.

“See, you’re already looking brighter,” Harry notes softly as they tread water. “Let the old Louis come out.”

When Harry mentions this hypothetical _‘old Louis’_ , Louis deflates but doesn't let it show. Is his stress really that noticeable? Has he become someone different after all this time of thinking it was just the world around him changing?

He maintains a screen of happiness the rest of the afternoon. Harry gets him to laugh again and reminds him that even in the midst of confusion, you can have some fun. The Californian sun has never felt better on his skin and he's never wanted to remain in a moment more.

 

-

 

 _Liam’s never punctual these days. Over the past few years, he’s always been the one ragging on everyone else for being a minute or two late to a meeting or gig, but now the table’s have flipped. Louis is the one on the receiving end of a_ ‘sorry I’ll be there in a little bit’ _text and he's the one entertaining himself as he waits for his band mate to arrive so they can start the writing session._

_To keep his mind at ease, he decides to check Twitter. In all honesty, he’s avoided the app completely since March in fear of what he’d find lurking around every tab. His wariness proves reasonable when he spots a tweet from ‘Naughty Boy’ on his timeline, quoted by a fan who’s less than amused by the tweet herself._

_It’s a picture of him and Zayn taken on a Mac with a hideous filter added on top. The caption is a taunting_ ‘Replace this’ _and it's not hard to understand who he’s indirectly speaking out to._

_So, in a flash of annoyance and boredom, Louis decides to type an ominous rebuttal. It’s nothing too menacing, just a jab at the childishness of the photo itself because he's not in the mood to start a serious war. It only takes a small match to set a building on fire though._

_‘Remember when you were 12 and you used to think those Mac filters for your pictures were cool haha ! Some people still do HA!’_

_Soon enough there's a reply from the original instigator._

_‘@Louis_Tomlinson and some people can't even sing.. but who’s complaining when there's autotune eh’_

_Admittedly, his chest tightens. His stomach drops and he has to take a deep, reassuring breath to remind himself that even when this prick comes at one of his largest insecurities, he shouldn't let it affect him. He replies with a witty comment about how this man does nothing more than ride on the backs of other artists’ careers, adding a beat or two to claim it as his own song._

_For a few minutes, he figures he's won, and he relaxes back into the couch in the living room of his rental home. His mentions are absolutely insane, which is understandable, but when he sees Zayn’s name begin to mix in with the messages he gets a bit confused._

_Curiously, he clicks on the verified mentions tab to see if his former band mate has had something to say in this little spat. Secretly he prays that Zayn has jumped in to defend him. Maybe he’s with Shahid and saw him take it a step too far by insulting Louis in such a crude manner. Maybe he’s trying to mediate and win Louis’ trust back after losing it two months ago._

_When he sees what the tweet really is, his heart stops beating._

_‘@Louis_Tomlinson remember when you had a life and stopped making bitchy comments about mine ?’_

_He’s not sure how much time passes before he blinks, isn't sure when exactly he became hunched forward and frighteningly tense. Since Zayn left, they've said nothing to each other. Not a single word, a good morning text, a phone call or email to catch up. This is the first communication since Louis was torn in two and now, as soon as he’s started healing, he feels himself burst into too many shards to count and it isn't fair._

_Louis wasn't even coming at him, is the thing. Sure, he's thrown some tweets out before now, but it was always focused on this dick that Zayn insists on associating with. Obviously he’s going to protect fans when Zayn is being rubbed in their faces after a departure with no real explanation._ Obviously _he's going to call out immaturity to protect the band. It was never malice toward Zayn, but apparently that's what it was taken as._

_He doesn't understand what he’s feeling. There's no part that stands out in his hurting. There’s betrayal for the way Zayn defended Shahid rather than him plus wounded pride in realizing Zayn saw the tweet coming at Louis’ voice and either ignored it or– even worse– agreed with it._

_He feels like he could throw up. All of the nights they spent talking to each other, with Louis ranting about people who upset him or the problems he had with friends— was that all just him being_ bitchy _in Zayn’s point of view? Does Zayn not care enough now to give him the benefit of the doubt before siding with the opponent?_

_Liam finally arrives and he bursts into the house with laughter and light hearted apologies. He begins teasing Louis about being asleep so soon when Louis doesn’t return banter, but then he comes into the living room and sees Louis frozen with his phone dim in his hand, still opened to the tweet._

_“Lou, are you good?” He asks hesitantly. He approaches the couch and sits beside Louis, carefully turning the phone towards him so he can read for himself what’s just gone down. Liam shows he’s done by clicking the phone completely off and putting it face down on the coffee table, then he puts a hand awkwardly on Louis’ thigh. “Are you okay?”_

_“What the fuck does it look like, Liam? I’m bursting at the seams with joy!” Louis explodes after too many moments of silence. He pushes himself off the couch and paces the room, smiling at Liam who only stares at him with his worried puppy face. “I fucking hate him, Liam, and he fucking hates me too! It’s wonderful, it really is. I've honestly never been better.”_

_His hands gesture wildly and his palms are sweating so he wipes them on his trackies. He’s certain he feels his heart rate start up again at the same time his eyes begin to water. It takes a millisecond for him to wipe the wetness away with his shirt._

_“Come sit down and we can talk or.. shit, I don't know,” Liam sighs, running a hand through his hair._

_“Why does he get to be fine while I’m like_ this _?” Louis wonders aloud. “How come I’m the one on the blunt end of everything?”_

 _“Well you didn’t_ have _to say anything, you know. He was actually probably referring to the joke I made on Instagram, so you should have just left it..” Liam tries to tell him, but it’s no use. Louis glares at him and shakes his head before stalking away, which stresses Liam. “Why do you two have to be so stubborn and similar? It’s impossible. This is impossible.”_

_When he realizes that even Liam has lost hope on his and Zayn’s relationship, Louis rests his forehead on the cool fridge and finally begins to understand what it is that’s been constantly gnawing at his insides since he buried his head in a pillow and begged for everything to not be real—_

_Heartbreak._

 

_-_

 

Louis hasn't worn cologne or a nice jacket in far too long. It feels nice to dress himself up for a proper night out– the first since Freddie was born. Well, technically he went to a party last night with Danielle, but it was more of a sit-in-the-corner-and-sip-some-beer kind of event to get him exposed to the social scene again. First, he’s got to drop by the Sony post-Grammy reception for the sake of keeping good with his label. The real killer is what’s afterwards, which is another Grammy after-party hosted by The Weeknd with GQ magazine. He only got told by his publicist to attend two days ago, so he’s got little to no idea of who’s even going to be there, but he knows it’ll be grand.

He has a car scheduled to pick him up at half past nine. He’s sucking on a cigarette when he hears the horn and stomps it out with his Adidas to remind himself that he's not as fresh and nice as this event is going to make him seem. The driver asks him how he's doing and they chat on the way to the venue like old friends which, really, they kind of are at this point. Louis likes to surround himself with the same faces so even in the insanity of his life there’s some semblance of family and normalcy.

The reception is nothing too special. He takes some pictures with a few fellow artists in attendance like Meghan Trainor even though they would never talk otherwise, and then he hangs out with some more profound producers and big-shots in the music industry. He needs connections with his new label, after all. Once it’s over, it’s nearing midnight and he books it over to the next location for a real party til the morning breaks.

The party is held at a grand mansion in Beverly Hills because where else do celebrities congregate in a stereotypical fashion? It’s an old-fashioned home glowing with purple and blue lights with shadows in the windows and glimmering party dresses in every corner. Louis hesitantly merges in with the crowd out back and let's out a whistle at the amount of famous figures fist pumping to the beat of a Fetty Wap song. He may be performing somewhere out here– it's too busy to tell.

The first person he runs into is Justin Bieber. He greets Louis with an unfocused grin that hints at some substance use tonight– that Louis may or may not try himself– and they do a pseudo-bro-handshake that breaks the ice of the album rivalry they had in November. They aren't close whatsoever but they bond over their successes and coat choices of the night. Louis has to pick up a drink from the nearest tray after that single conversation.

It doesn't take long before he’s mingling with names he hears every day on the radio, obnoxiously laughing with them and joking around like drunken mates. Taylor Swift stops him and pulls him in for a hug where his head meets her chest, and it’s not as awkward as one would expect it to be after the drama a few years ago. They got over that at one of her parties last year, the one where Louis and Niall got wasted and slunk around with her and Ed and various others for hours on end. She’s looking gorgeous tonight in a skirt set that has gold laced into the front, and Louis can’t help but compliment her for the sake of sealing what could be a subtle friendship.

“Oh, thank you! I think you’re the first guy to compliment my outfit tonight!” She exclaims with a smile, clearly pleased that he took notice of something other than her smile or body.

“Well I can appreciate a bit of gold. Who can’t?” He replies with a bright smile of his own.

“I know _all_ about your love for gold,” she notes, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t think I don’t remember the gold chain incident last year.”

Louis takes an affronted step back and drops his jaw. “Niall’s the one who bet me it wouldn’t stay up! I have pride, but I’ll let anyone see what’s going on down there if it gets me a few hundred in my pocket, sorry. You really should’ve just turned away at that point.”

“How could I? You were the center of attention! Half the party was hovering around you, you’re just _magnetic_ , Louis Tomlinson,” she purrs.

“Says America’s sweetheart,” he retorts with a cocked eyebrow. He sips his drink with a pinky raised. Fighting with compliments is their way of bonding apparently, which is quite alright with him.

Before she can reply, she’s being swept away by another blonde beauty that he can’t put a name on. She swears they’ll meet again soon and finish up this battle, and he salutes her with an assurance that they’ll throw down at the next A-list get-together.

Finally, he makes his way inside the mansion. It’s hotter inside, with the bodies close together and the air polluted by the smell of alcohol and smoke alike. Chandeliers adorn the ceiling and full bottles of liquor linger on every surface like fine décor. After some exploring, he finds a game room similar to his own in London. There are old fashioned game consoles pressed to each wall and air hockey and pool tables in the center of the room. He’s about to enter the room to get into a good game of Pacman when he’s stopped by a photographer asking if they can take his picture. He agrees and smiles, pointing his fingers because he doesn’t know how else to pose alone.

“Thanks, man. Are you going to be with Zayn at all tonight? Is there any chance we could get a shot of you two together for the GQ site?” The man asks and Louis stares blankly. He realizes he’s supposed to answer when the man hesitantly throws out yes or no options.

“Not tonight, mate, sorry,” Louis smiles, tight-lipped and confused. He dismisses himself before further awkwardness ensues.

Zayn didn’t say he would be here. Then again, since when has Zayn told him anything? They’re still in the testing stage of whatever this is that they're trying out. They aren't coexisting just yet, so they don't spill every detail of their social lives to each other out of free will, meaning they may run into each other at events and they may not.

Louis’ first instinct is to search the premises for music’s new It Boy as the public has taken to labeling him now. But rather than do that, he decides to hide. He knows he’s intoxicated and that he can't be trusted when he's got something other than blood pumping to his heart, so he escapes with one of the half empty liquor bottles and climbs the first staircase he sees that's not flooded with loners and drunk strays.

With every step he takes, his cowardice becomes more pronounced. He tries to shut himself up with sips of the burning alcohol, but it does nothing but fuel the raging pit of depreciation in the center of his mind. There’s not much happening upstairs. Some rooms are open, some closed and seeping the sounds of intimate adventures. His hip clips the corner of a table on his way to the end of the long hall. He hisses and clutches the bottle as he shuffles along the carpet looking for refuge in this vast place.

In the room he decides to peer into, he sees a balcony. The curtain hanging down in front of it is like a purple ghost, swaying in the wind that pours through the cracked door. Beyond this is a figure outside, one with broad shoulders and thin limbs and a mess of hair pushed on top of its head. Louis means to turn around and skip back downstairs as if he’d seen nothing at all, but before he knows it he’s inside of the ghostly curtains, one foot outside and fingers frozen on the edge of the sliding glass.

“Why are you up here?” he asks.

The figure turns around quickly like he’s been tapped by a real ghost. They meet eyes and Louis can see the unfocused glaze over the deep brown. “How did you find me?”

Louis squeezes outside and steps right beside Zayn. He digs around in his jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes and pulls out three; one for him, one for Zayn, and one to tuck behind his ear. Zayn reluctantly accepts the peace offering as Louis flicks his hot pink lighter over the ends of each.

“I wasn’t looking for you, believe it or not,” Louis says. “I didn't even know you'd be here.”

Zayn nods. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Louis’ fingers tap on the railing as the party thrives below them. They’re three floors up from the ground where there are still bodies grinding and bottles popping and a DJ mixing new songs with prehistoric ones that everyone yells the lyrics to within their assorted social circles.

“So why are _you_ out here?” Zayn asks, breaking the comfortable quiet that found its way between them.

“I’m pretty sure I asked you that first,” Louis mutters, tipping his head back and blowing smoke cinematically.

“I’m a recluse after a few hours. What's your excuse?”

“Got tired of socializing myself, I guess,” he lies easily since he can't admit his plan was to hide from Zayn.

“It's amazing how none of them get tired,” Zayn remarks. He’s staring down in wonder but Louis is staring at him. Louis squints at Zayn’s hair which seems to be a light pink. He has the urge to run his fingers through it and to see if it smells like cotton candy or strawberries.

“They're all golden,” Louis replies after a minute of consideration.

“So are you.”

Louis gives him a dead stare and sucks down some smoke while Zayn does nothing but let his eyes bore into Louis’ like he knows all the truths he’s hiding behind Louis’ cool mask. “Don’t try that with me. I was a few years ago, maybe, but I’m rusted now. They're all constellations and I’m the fucking dying star that never quite found its place.”

He knows he's getting too philosophical now, but Zayn isn't someone he's ever had to tone his mind down in front of. It’s a relief to know that no matter how much nonsense he spills, there will be no judgement from this like-minded boy who could elaborate on each insanity Louis shares.

“Remember the last time we were on a roof together?” Zayn wonders aloud in a sudden topic change. Intentional or not, Louis welcomes the memory.

“Yes,” Louis sighs, closing his eyes and watching that night play back on the insides of his eyelids. “This isn't a roof though.”

“It's close enough.”

Louis wants to smash the liquor bottle on Zayn’s head. He wants to see a glass cut right beside the bruise that's only just fading away because Zayn can’t do this. He can't keep playing this game where he acts like he wants something but refuses to tell Louis what it is. Every word he says is tactful for his own benefit and Louis just wants to run before he acts on the idiotic idea materializing in his mind.

“What do you want from me, Zayn? You said you wanted to be friends, but we’ve barely spoken since then. You made me _punch_ you. And now you keep saying random things that make me want to fucking kiss you again and I don't know what to do about it,” Louis rants, holding the cigarette impatiently between two fingers and drawing in a deep breath on it.

“That's what I want,” Zayn admits quietly beside him. It makes Louis’ heart seize up.

“We both have girlfriends.”

“I know,” Zayn sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

“I can't be reckless anymore, Z,” Louis says, eyes locking on Zayn’s lips. “Look where it's gotten me.”

“It brought us together again.”

Louis feels defeated. The realization that hit him last May comes to mind. The nights spent forcing himself to turn his undeniable love for Zayn into a hatred that became an entity of its own; they all seem pointless. There was never any chance of him burying his true feelings forever, and this moment is the proof.

“Well it's not going to keep us together, that's for fucking sure,” Louis grits. He wants to laugh— laugh in the face of the temptation, laugh at the tragedy.

“Just be reckless one last time. One final swing before you go and settle down for the first time in your life,” Zayn urges.

Louis, against his own orders, considers it. “Don't tempt me. You know how I get when I drink.”

“I _love_ tempting you, though, because it's so much more fun when you've been drinking,” Zayn grins.

“What's fun? My reaction to you or my kissing skills?”

“Both,” Zayn nods.

They both kill their cigarettes then toss them in the ash tray provided just for them. Louis coughs and stretches his arms behind him and Zayn leans forward onto the barrier.

“You really shouldn’t try to get me to cheat,” Louis mutters. “Is kissing even cheating?”

“It could be. But then again, you kiss your mum too. Your siblings, your pets, your.. children,” Zayn finishes with a jolt.

“Right, so it is technically cheating. Alright then,” Louis sighs. Zayn turns with confusion. “Reckless and wrong. One last time.”

Zayn’s studying him with that burning intensity only he can manage. “Are you sure?”

“I haven't been sure about anything recently, so not really, but it's as much certainty as we’re going to get. Now fucking kiss me before I begin to hate myself for even considering this,” Louis demands before taking the last two steps and pressing his mouth against Zayn’s before anyone can utter another word.

It’s so different from last time. Their amount of facial hair is at a peak and they both taste like alcohol and– more distinctly and almost overwhelmingly– like smoke. But the passion hasn't changed. There’s still a spark and a flood of blood straight to Louis’ heart and tight grips on each other’s faces and fingers in their hair like they're afraid of falling from the heavens if they let go.

All Louis can focus on is living in this moment like it holds the last breaths he’ll ever take. Honestly, he’d be fine dying this way, lips moulded with Zayn’s, kissing above the heads of people who couldn't be more oblivious. A bitter chill courses over him when they open their mouths and his skin burns where their stubble scratches repeatedly as a reminder of just how sinful this is.

“Zayn,” Louis manages to mumble. They feverishly continue though and Louis has to physically push Zayn’s face back to get more words out between kisses. “I’ve got– to tell– you something.”

They finally break away at this. Zayn’s lips are swollen and red and Louis knows his are similarly raw.

“What?” Zayn asks, breathless and beautiful and it makes it more difficult for Louis to tell him what he’s been holding back for so long.

Louis looks around the perimeter anxiously, though he knows no one is close enough to hear or even read his lips. In a last weak second, he grabs Zayn’s shirt collar and tugs him in for another kiss, less wild and more like a final grasp for bravery.

“I love you,” Louis whispers. It sounds less monumental than he’d imagined. “I’ve probably loved you for years, I just didn't realize until— until you were gone.”

Zayn’s frozen and their faces are an inch apart so Louis closes his eyes. He hesitantly backs away and leans back on the railing with his face in his hands.

“Lou..” Zayn tries.

“Don’t. Don’t say whether you love me too or not, I can't hear any of it,” Louis tells him softly, massaging his temples.

“But I do love you,” Zayn admits, disobeying Louis’ orders. “Why don't you want to hear it?”

“Because nothing can _come_ from this, Zayn,” Louis cries. He pushes himself away and stares at Zayn who hasn't moved since the kiss. “There's no way _anything_ can come from this. My life is a mess right now and I can't keep you around adding insult to injury. Plus with all of my other.. _involvements_ ,” he says flippantly, “It’d be even more confusing. I’m trying to avoid hurting more people than necessary, believe it or not.”

Zayn nods in understanding, but Louis knows him— he can read the way his jaw is clenched, and how he’s avoiding eye contact by itching his knuckles. Louis stares at him and his eyes catch on the faintest hint of the bruise on Zayn’s eye, hopefully faded by now but probably covered by expensive foundation. It reminds him of why they can’t coexist in this way. They’re eternally detrimental to each other.

“So hurting me is necessary then?” Zayn whispers.

“Zayn.. I’m sorry. I love you and I’m so, so sorry that I’m not ready for this right now.” Louis’ voice betrays him by cracking. He can't believe he's gone so quickly from wanting to never see Zayn again to nearly crying over him after confessing his feelings.

“Don't be sorry. Like I said before, sometimes you have to do things for yourself and it hurts others, but it's okay. I think we’ve both been waiting for this since our first kiss anyways,” Zayn smiles sadly.

“I didn't know I loved you back then though.” Louis says, chest uncomfortably tight.

“I know,” Zayn nods. His cheeks match his hair. “I knew I felt something for you though, which is why I tried not to bring it up again. I didn't want things to be tense or awkward.”

Louis sighs while the stars laugh. “Maybe if we’d brought it up sooner our fate would’ve been different.”

“Maybe,” Zayn agrees, “but I doubt it would've lasted. There's a time and place for everything. and we aren't there yet. I’ll be patient as long as you’re willing to keep me dangling.”

Louis meets his mischievous gaze and bites back a grin unsuccessfully. He grabs Zayn’s hand and grazes his thumb over his sharp knuckles. “I’d love nothing more than to have you wrapped around my finger forever, love.”

They both know it's his way of assuring Zayn that yes, he should wait, because the day will come when the storm settles and Louis can make reckless decisions again. Eventually he’ll give in to this temptation that's been pressing in the depths of his gut for years and hopefully they'll be alright. But in the meantime, they can still be close. All can fall back to how it was pre-apocalypse.

“I guess I can let you know now that half of my album was inspired by you,” Zayn smiles, gently reeling Louis closer by their tangled fingers.

“Was it now?” Louis wonders, raising his eyebrows lazily. “Well, that beats me writing four songs about you. Congratulations.”

Zayn laughs and Louis has missed the way his tongue peeks from behind his teeth when he smiles. “We’re like the lead characters of a disgusting romance film.”

“Proper Nicholas Sparks, innit?” Louis teases.

“Something like that,” Zayn smirks. Then they're together again, lips brushing sweetly with no ulterior motives.

Louis can't get over the fact that he's here in this moment with Zayn but he's having to let him go again. Luckily he’s not disappearing completely and it's on a mutually-agreed note, but, nevertheless, Louis wishes it could be different. He longs to live in the universe where they're stars of the same constellation or moons orbiting the same planet rather than this one where they're comets on a collision course.

“I think we should stop now before someone actually catches us,” Louis suggests after a minute of selfishness. “Wouldn't want that scandal, now, would we?”

“I don't know. That could get me good promo. _‘Zayn Malik Caught Kissing Ex-Best Friend, Louis Tomlinson— Could His New Album Be About The Blue-Eyed Boy Too?’”_ Zayn mocks with a warm grin. Louis elbows him in the side when he begins to walk back inside.

“Fuck off. Everyone already knows your first single is already about me,” Louis sighs.

“It's really not.”

“Oh,” Louis starts, sending Zayn an all-knowing smile, and placing a hand on his shoulder. He stands on his toes to get right next to Zayn’s ear and then whispers, “ _Everything_ is about me.”

 

-

 

_The screams are deafening. It’s difficult to speak over such chaos, but Louis tries his best anyways._

_“Alright, this question says.. Ah, there it is! This person wants to know what’s one thing you couldn’t live without,” Louis reads, spinning to face the boys._

_“My heart,” Niall laughs and slaps his knees. His sunburned face is alight with fake satisfaction. The fans get a kick, and even Louis can’t help but grin at the weak attempt at a joke._

_“Alright then. Zayn, how about you? One thing you couldn’t live without?” He asks, cocking his hip and staring at Zayn while he thinks._

_Zayn raises the microphone slowly and then says, “You.”_

_Obviously the arena floods with the overzealous screeching of thousands, all overcome with adoration for the boy in front of Louis. They all laugh a little, but Louis decides to press him some more._

_“Did you mean me?” he asks, covering his heart. “Or them?” he follows, gesturing towards the fans around B stage, all reaching out to grab his hand even though they’re meters away._

_What he doesn’t expect is for Zayn to open his arms and gesture him to come forward. He does so hesitantly, patting Zayn’s back awkwardly when they’re pressed together in a hug. Zayn yells something in Louis’ ear, but to everyone else it’s as if he said nothing at all. Louis pulls back from the hug and feels his heart swell a size bigger. He tries to shake himself down and play it off nonchalantly, with a shrug and a nod._

_“Thanks bro,” he laughs, catching Zayn’s stare that holds something deeper than normally present on stage and especially during the question portion of the show._

_Louis feels elated the rest of the night, and even when they’re back on the bus, half dressed and gathered around a playstation, he’s replaying the voice in his ear over and over and over again. He keeps staring at Zayn with his drooping hair and deep collarbones, tan skin even darker from the American sun. It’s all ridiculous, because Zayn’s his best friend. There’s no need for him to be so caught up in him or something so miniscule that he said. But here he remains, never to forget the way the words, “It’s always you,” rolled off Zayn’s tongue in a promise that Louis is the one thing he wouldn’t take another breath without. As if they’d ever be apart anyways._


End file.
